The good thing about this job is that it basically lets me work whenever I want, for however long I want to. It's flexibility like that that lets me do other things, like having medical appointments that are only available during office hours, and partaking in the weekly Car of the Week races.
It's precisely that flexibility that made me realise how important to me a routine is. For the past ten or so months that I've been doing this job, I've largely stuck to a routine of 6–10am, 6–when I'm tired enough pm, with a nap in between, Mondays to Fridays. Because I've no plan or routine on weekends, I often sleep those away not even touching my car. In essence, I work 8 hours a day, five days a week, just like your typical office Joe, despite having all the freedom in the world.
I guess the fact that I've decided my own schedule for myself is all the difference there is.
With that freedom also comes a vulnerability to laziness, especially if you've no discipline nor drive like me, and so a dead set, brainless schedule is all that keeps this cog on the shaft of society. For the past two days, I've been trying to find alternatives to that, because broken sleep is terrible, and waking up at 5:30 in the morning is god awful, schedule or not. Oh, and there's also the slight issue of me desperately needing to fit half an hour of exercise into my daily life to be healthier and not feel so lethargic, but being too lethargic and tired to even do enough work to turn a profit. And then having to spend an obsessive amount of time writing car reviews because that's just about the only thing I have that's keeping me going.
I thought I could wake up at 7 or so in the morning, go for a light jog that hopefully doesn't completely snuff out this ember that is my life on this mortal plane, and then work for 8 hours consecutively, maybe with a quick meal break in between. I sort of tried that today, and uh...
I realised just how goddamn tiring driving in Singapore is, especially during peak hours. I did only about three hours of nonstop work, and at the end of it I could tell I was getting tired, angry, sad, and just plain having a bad time. I honked at someone purely out of irritation, and that's when I knew I had to stop, get out of my car, take a long walk, deep breath, and a nap to forget it all before I allow myself back into the 1.2 ton murder machine. I feel like this is the sort of thing that narcotics and addictions are supposed to help with. To release and forget. And to give justification for this endless struggle.
When the fuel attendant asked me which fuel to put in, I sounded as exhausted and out of breath as though I spent the last three hours running a marathon instead of sitting in a cool, dry environment barely moving my hands and feet.
I'm... a little afraid of myself. Of when I become tired. Of when I become angry. Of when I lose my inhibitions. I've seen what I can do or say. I don't want to ever go back there. I know it sounds dramatic, probably more than what's justifiable, but it is what I feel nonetheless.
Driving is tiring not just because I've to be alert and avoid other brain dead motorists, but also because I need to inhibit myself so much. There are so many things that can happen within mere minutes of each other that make me angry, that is pure irresponsible, that is outright dangerous, that is downright rude. I may not be at fault and I may have the right of way, but the last thing anyone on the road wants is for contact to happen, and so I feel like I've to take responsibility for the safety of everyone who shares the road with me, either because they're genuine dumbasses, because they're unfamiliar with the roads, because they're rude and know that I'll stop before hitting them, thereby taking advantage of me, or because of human error.
I feel like I think I've said this elsewhere before, but I feel like an emotional sponge—I get so easily affected by the actions, tone, mood, or words of those around me and get sucked into feeling what they feel. My therapist tells me that that's an invaluable, sought after trait of therapists, because it lets them empathise with their patients. But the problem is that I'm not a therapist. I'm too dumb to be one and I really don't think I've the compassionate heart that is the forefront requirement of the job. And so I just feel fragile. Unstable. Formless. Weak. Vulnerable. Easy to manipulate. And angry at all that. I wish I wasn't so much a sponge as a rock. I don't want to care. I don't want to feel anything. Feelings are just inconvenient. Feelings tire me out. If I'm never going to have anything I want in life, then what's the point of having feelings? If all I'm going to feel is lethargy, anger, tiredness, sadness, emptiness, frustration, hatred?
Maybe it's all just in my head. After all, common sense dictates that there is both good and bad in the world out there, isn't it? So why is it that when I drive, I seemingly absorb and feel only negativity? Is the world out there really that spiteful, or am I just insane and weak? Which is the better option?
It started out as small talk, anyway...
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